This morning I was woken by the hot sun on my skin. I slept on the roof last night to catch some breeze and avoid the oppressive still heat in our bedroom. I was surprised that the growing clamor didn't wake me before the sun did, but I was sleeping like a baby, better than I have inside a building, even with a fan on me, for the last week. I suppose staying up late discussing the intricacies of life and baby elephants with Allison encouraged me sleep in later than usual.
Since last I wrote, we have been in Varanasi, one of the holiest cities in India, one of the oldest inhabited cities of the world, and one of the most vibrant places I've ever seen, for 4 days. We
were greeted getting off the train by our Hindi guru Virendraji, one of our program staff Panditji, who placed a garland of marigolds on each of our necks in welcome, and a mob of red-shirted kulis ready to carry our luggage to the cars. I was entertained as I watched them hoist our luggage onto their heads, balancing backpacks and suitcases as they walked in a red antline through the throngs on the train platform. No Indian in their right mind seems to ever put a backpack on their back here. Balancing it on my head now even seems to me to be a better idea, to avoid plastering my shirt to the sweat on my back. 
We drove in airconditioned comfort to our program house, where we were to stay for four days while getting our bearings on the area. Along the way we had broken conversations with Panditji, a tall, lanky cheerful and talkative old man in a dhoti and a long kurta. We talked about everything we passed, asking what the vegetables were called, which temple we were passing now, and which one we were passing five feet later, and then five feet after that... There are more temples per capita in India than anywhere else in the world (or so I'm told), and I think that Varanasi pulls it weight in that statistic more than many places. Varanasi has a wonderful, small, personable feeling. It has none of the huge city 1.4 million people scary easy to get lost feeling that I feared. I know that if I am lost, I will always be able to get back to the program house on a cyclerickshaw, and there will always be hundreds of friendly people who I can ask for directions to Assi ghat or Durgaji to get back home.
The highlight of our time in Varanasi so far has been going to the tailor. Leaving our program house to get out to one of the main roads for a cyclerickshaw, we all followed Sanghamitra like ducklings, left at the trash heap with the monkeys, through the meter-wide alleyway we shared with cows and motorcycles, past the barber and to the tree where all the rickshawvallas were resting in the shade. She arranged four rickshaws for all 9 of us to fit in, told us how much we were to pay them, then said to meet by the bank where we got off, if we got separated along the way. It was inevitable to get separated, weaving through the pulsing traffic, swerving to avoid potholes and oncoming vehicles, and the rear end of an enormous, beautiful brahma bull who was standing perpendicular to traffic, tenderly licking the fingers of a man who was feeding him sweets from behind his sweetmeat counter. Once we arrived we all met at the set location, then resumed our duckling formation attempting to cross the bustling intersection. Here you don't wait for a space in the traffic, you just step out into it. If you give anyone space, they will take it, but if you step in front of the motorcycles and rickshaws and cars, then they will move for you. I still havn't mastered the art of fearlessly stepping into a busy intersection, but I'm working on it. We walked through a narrow roofed market area, squeezing through the shoppers and shopkeepers to get to a less-crowded alley-like thing to a set of stairs. I have the most difficult time remembering to pass people on the left, not on the right. I have walked head-on into many people forgetting which side to stay on. I guess I have walked head-on into people going the right direction also, though... Anyway, we walked up the narrow stairway, took off our shoes, and were ushered into a small room with an enormous cushion covering the floor, and the walls completely covered in stacks and stacks and stacks of fabric. We all sat down along the walls, facing Sunilji and his two assistants who sat in front of the door, and then the show began. Our program has been working with Sunilji and his tailoring business "Ganga Handlooms" for over 30 years, and I believe it is for good reason. He spent almost two hours explaining to us how the cotton for his fabric is picked, spun, combed, woven and dyed, spreading out examples of extremely light, extremely nice, extremly beautiful and colorful fabric for each sort of dying, each sort of weaving. He told us how they make their clothes, and showed us examples of what he could make, and by the end of the explanations, the cushioned floor in front of him was a mountain of
fine cloth. He then asked us to decide what we'd like to try, discuss our ideas with him, try on samples, choose colors, and just go crazy. We did. I've never liked clothes shopping so much in my life. We were there for over 3 hours, and had to rush at the end to make sure that we would still be able to get a rickshaw back to our program house. We returned in the morning, despite Sunilji's apologies that there would be no power for any air conditioning on Sunday at 9:30 in the morning. Amazing. I can't wait to have a few more pairs of clothing to add to my sweaty wardrobe rotation!
Virendraji has just arrived for our first day of class, so I should go get ready for that. Today we'll have a short class, individual meetings with Shashankji about our fieldwork projects, then move into our new rooms in host families and apartments, which we went around visiting yesterday. I'm sure I will have much more to write about next time I get the chance! I can only imagine. Just like in Krrish. "Just imagine!"
Namaste
-Ariel
Since last I wrote, we have been in Varanasi, one of the holiest cities in India, one of the oldest inhabited cities of the world, and one of the most vibrant places I've ever seen, for 4 days. We
were greeted getting off the train by our Hindi guru Virendraji, one of our program staff Panditji, who placed a garland of marigolds on each of our necks in welcome, and a mob of red-shirted kulis ready to carry our luggage to the cars. I was entertained as I watched them hoist our luggage onto their heads, balancing backpacks and suitcases as they walked in a red antline through the throngs on the train platform. No Indian in their right mind seems to ever put a backpack on their back here. Balancing it on my head now even seems to me to be a better idea, to avoid plastering my shirt to the sweat on my back. 
We drove in airconditioned comfort to our program house, where we were to stay for four days while getting our bearings on the area. Along the way we had broken conversations with Panditji, a tall, lanky cheerful and talkative old man in a dhoti and a long kurta. We talked about everything we passed, asking what the vegetables were called, which temple we were passing now, and which one we were passing five feet later, and then five feet after that... There are more temples per capita in India than anywhere else in the world (or so I'm told), and I think that Varanasi pulls it weight in that statistic more than many places. Varanasi has a wonderful, small, personable feeling. It has none of the huge city 1.4 million people scary easy to get lost feeling that I feared. I know that if I am lost, I will always be able to get back to the program house on a cyclerickshaw, and there will always be hundreds of friendly people who I can ask for directions to Assi ghat or Durgaji to get back home.
The highlight of our time in Varanasi so far has been going to the tailor. Leaving our program house to get out to one of the main roads for a cyclerickshaw, we all followed Sanghamitra like ducklings, left at the trash heap with the monkeys, through the meter-wide alleyway we shared with cows and motorcycles, past the barber and to the tree where all the rickshawvallas were resting in the shade. She arranged four rickshaws for all 9 of us to fit in, told us how much we were to pay them, then said to meet by the bank where we got off, if we got separated along the way. It was inevitable to get separated, weaving through the pulsing traffic, swerving to avoid potholes and oncoming vehicles, and the rear end of an enormous, beautiful brahma bull who was standing perpendicular to traffic, tenderly licking the fingers of a man who was feeding him sweets from behind his sweetmeat counter. Once we arrived we all met at the set location, then resumed our duckling formation attempting to cross the bustling intersection. Here you don't wait for a space in the traffic, you just step out into it. If you give anyone space, they will take it, but if you step in front of the motorcycles and rickshaws and cars, then they will move for you. I still havn't mastered the art of fearlessly stepping into a busy intersection, but I'm working on it. We walked through a narrow roofed market area, squeezing through the shoppers and shopkeepers to get to a less-crowded alley-like thing to a set of stairs. I have the most difficult time remembering to pass people on the left, not on the right. I have walked head-on into many people forgetting which side to stay on. I guess I have walked head-on into people going the right direction also, though... Anyway, we walked up the narrow stairway, took off our shoes, and were ushered into a small room with an enormous cushion covering the floor, and the walls completely covered in stacks and stacks and stacks of fabric. We all sat down along the walls, facing Sunilji and his two assistants who sat in front of the door, and then the show began. Our program has been working with Sunilji and his tailoring business "Ganga Handlooms" for over 30 years, and I believe it is for good reason. He spent almost two hours explaining to us how the cotton for his fabric is picked, spun, combed, woven and dyed, spreading out examples of extremely light, extremely nice, extremly beautiful and colorful fabric for each sort of dying, each sort of weaving. He told us how they make their clothes, and showed us examples of what he could make, and by the end of the explanations, the cushioned floor in front of him was a mountain of
fine cloth. He then asked us to decide what we'd like to try, discuss our ideas with him, try on samples, choose colors, and just go crazy. We did. I've never liked clothes shopping so much in my life. We were there for over 3 hours, and had to rush at the end to make sure that we would still be able to get a rickshaw back to our program house. We returned in the morning, despite Sunilji's apologies that there would be no power for any air conditioning on Sunday at 9:30 in the morning. Amazing. I can't wait to have a few more pairs of clothing to add to my sweaty wardrobe rotation!Virendraji has just arrived for our first day of class, so I should go get ready for that. Today we'll have a short class, individual meetings with Shashankji about our fieldwork projects, then move into our new rooms in host families and apartments, which we went around visiting yesterday. I'm sure I will have much more to write about next time I get the chance! I can only imagine. Just like in Krrish. "Just imagine!"
Namaste
-Ariel
3 comments:
Great stories, Ariel. I read it aloud to mom, and we both loved it. Keep writing when you can! We'll keep checking.
why would someone want to kiss mom's feet!?!
Not kiss her feet, just touch them. It shows a lot of respect. It serves to show that you have no ego, and by touching the right spot on their feet and that person touching your head, you gain some of their energy.
Cool...they don't do that in Wisconsin.
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